Say It With Flowers
by Henabrey
Summary: After making a disastrous move on Lilly, Scotty sits in a bar feeling sorry for himself. But are things as bad as they seem? What's Lil thinking? Strong LS steer clear if you don't like that stuff.
1. Bud

Title: Say It With Flowers

Author: Henabrey

Summary: after making a disastrous move on Lilly, Scotty sits in a bar feeling sorry for himself. But are things as bad as they seem? What's Lil thinking? Strong LS...steer clear if you don't like that stuff.

Rating: T for some bad language

Category: is there such a thing as angsty fluff?

Disclaimer: These character's don't belong to me. I'm just borrowing them for a bit.

Spoilers: brief reference to The Woods & Beautiful Little Fool. I wrote this before the start of season four, & it's set recently after BLF. Joseph does not exist.

Extra Note: this is not my first fanfiction, but it _is_ the first one I've liked enough to release into the wide blue yonder, otherwise known as the internet. Please let me know what you thought of it by leaving a review.

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Part One: Bud (Scotty)

So I kissed my partner today. I know, dumb, right? On a list of all the stupid things I've done in my life, and God knows it's a long list, that would gotta be right up near the top. That's why I am where I am, in a bar. It's a good bar...no, that ain't right, it's a terrible bar, but it's a good bar to get drunk in. It's mostly deserted, which is just the way I want it right now. Nothin' like a bunch of people havin' fun around you to make you more depressed than you are already. And I'm plenty depressed. In this bar there's just the bartender and a coupla drunks down the other end of the counter, holdin' themselves up by their beer glasses. Sometimes they mumble to each other, sometimes to themselves. Not to me, just as well. I ain't in the mood for conversation. They look kinda familiar. They were probably here the last time I was, just after George held Lilly hostage in his goddamned woods. I came here then to forget how I'd felt sittin' in the car waitin' for gunshots.

Tonight I'm here to try and forget Lilly altogether, and that is a damned hard thing to do.

Maybe the bar has somethin' to hold my attention. Anythin' to think of while I wait for the alcohol to take effect. The bar is badly lit at the best of times, but at some time since I've been here last one of the few light bulbs has blown and there are even more shadows than usual. There are a few scuffed wooden tables that I've never seen people sittin' at and a number of mismatched chairs strewn haphazardly about the room. There are six chairs at one table and none at others, and there are a coupla chairs that ain't at tables at all but stuck out in the room all by themselves, self-conscious like girls at the prom without a date. There are some paintings on the wall, but they're so dirty from years of neglect and cigarettes that I can't tell what they're pictures of. There's a jukebox in one corner that, when it plays at all, will only play dreary country ballads about girls named Betty Sue. It's quietly croonin' to itself. In the air is the stench of smoke and a faint whiff of long-ago spilled beer.

Look, I said it was a terrible bar. It ain't even interestin' enough to hold my attention for more than a coupla minutes. Of course, I coulda been in the best bar in Philly, surrounded by topless cheerleaders, and I'd still be distracted by thoughts of blonde hair, a tough attitude and the most amazin' blue eyes I've ever seen.

God help me.

The bartender is givin' me the eye. People come here to drink, and people who look around the bar like a tourist instead of drinkin' are viewed with suspicion. I nod at him - same again, keep em comin' - and he shuffles into action, movin' like an eighty year old who's just taken a sedative. Hey, don't pull a muscle movin' too fast, there, willya buddy? Sure is earnin' that tip.

I ain't drunk, but I'm in a hell of a hurry to get there.

The bartender delivers my scotch in a grimy glass and I fish a ten outta my pocket to pay. The note disappears and from the look on the bartender's face I won't be gettin' any change. If the drink helps it's worth it. The bartender, who's a thickset man in his late thirties, only slightly less rundown and scruffy than his bar, makes his way back up the other end of the counter where one of the drunks is wavin' his glass in the air. My thoughts, wayward at the best of times, drift back to Lilly.

A sigh escapes me.

It started with this damn flower I saw as I was walkin' back from lunch yesterday. Lil and me had just interviewed this woman about the case we were workin'. Tough case, tough morning. Sorry you were raped when you were six, lady, but we need you to relive it again so we can try and catch the guy who did it. We think he killed a girl after he did you. Fucked, right? And Lil, she was takin' it hard like she always does when it's little girls. Not that most people would notice, of course, she had that hard as glass attitude well in place as usual. But I could see. It's like she shrinks a little, draws herself in, puts her walls up higher than normal. That light that shines from her, it gets a little dimmer when it's little girls. Replaced by something harder, hotter and deeply personal.

One day I'll get up the nerve and ask her about it. Maybe.

So I asked her out to lunch after we were done with the witness. Share a sandwich and a little conversation. Nothin' at all to do with the fact I wanted to hold her and protect her from all the bad shit in the world. But she had this distant look on her face, this don't-touch look, and when she said no I knew better than to push her. And I tried not to take it personally, cause sometimes Lil just has to be Lil, on her own. I get that. So I had my lonely lunch all by myself, sandwich somehow tastin' like cardboard despite all the fillings I had them put on it. Nothin' at all to do with the fact Lilly wasn't there to share it with me, I'm sure. And then as I was walkin' back to the office I saw this little flower.

You know that sayin', I don't know about art, but I know what I like? Same with me and flowers. I hadn't a clue what kinda flower it was, but I knew I liked it. It was this red colour, not a washed out red but a dark, blood red, and it had this fuzzy yellow centre. It was growin' all by itself on this little plant that was maybe a foot high, growin' up between the sidewalk and this old buildin'. I think it was a lawyer's office. It looked like the little bush wasn't supposed to be there, like it was a weed, cause who ever heard of a lawyer plantin' a garden on the sidewalk, am I right? Someone said once that a weed was a plant whose good points hadn't been discovered yet, and I guess that was true about this little plant, cause it sure made a nice flower.

I stood there awhile, lookin' at this flower, thinkin' of Lilly. Wonderin' if she was okay, knowin' she wasn't. Hatin' that I couldn't do a damn thing to take the pain of her life away.

I guess you can tell by now that I have more-than-partnerly feelings towards my partner. God knows I shouldn't, but there you go. Can't choose your relatives, can't choose who you'll fall in love with despite the grief it can cause you. Yeah, I said fall in love. I'll admit it. Not to her, Christ no, but between you, me and my nearly empty glass of scotch, I'm head over heels for the woman. Have been for ages. I won't pretend it ain't been hard, keepin' quiet, but I ain't a stupid man despite the stupid things I do sometimes. And me tellin' Lilly Rush I was in love with her would be the action of a very stupid man indeed.

Well, okay, I kissed her. I'm gettin' to that.

There's so much I'd like to say to her. Sometimes when I've sampled the scotch a little more than I should, like now for instance, I let myself list the stuff I'd say if I thought I could get away with it. Say, if she was in a coma. Or behind sound-proof glass. Somethin' like that. _I love you_, I'd say. _I'm sorry you had such a tough childhood. I'm sorry no one else seems to have treated you the way you deserve. I'd like to devote the rest of my life to makin' up for it. I'd like to kiss your pain away and hold you, worship you, until the day I die. I'd like to make you laugh. I love you_ again, over and over again.

There's a lot I'd like to ask her, too. Not just about her past and whatever lies in it that's made her the way she is, but regular stuff I don't know about her. Her favourite colour, for example. Does she prefer Chinese or Italian, comedy or thriller movies, classical or rock music? Where would she go if she ever took a vacation? How come she has two cats who could compete in the cat Paralympics when she could have regular cats with the right number of appendages? Has she ever thought about kissing me?

Stuff like that.

But I can't say the things I want to. Can't even let an ounce of what I feel for her show on my face. Sad, and hard, but that's the price you pay for lovin' someone like Lilly. I'm not an open person myself, I know that, I got my own issues. But I'm nothin' compared to her. She's so careful with herself; she's got these walls a mile high, and it's a rare person who's able to get more than a glimpse inside. She's been hurt a little too often, and it makes her wary when it comes to sharin' herself. She puts up her walls as protection for herself, to present a mask to the outside world. Walks tough, acts tough, talks tough when she's gotta, but I can see she's broken inside. I wish I could help her piece herself back together. But I know that if I ever told her even a tiny part of what I thought of her and felt for her her walls would go up even higher. Fuckin' Wall of China. Her personal life and her work life do not mix and that's final. And I'm just part of her work life. She cares for me more than she does her desk chair and her coffee mug, maybe, but I still ain't gettin' into that other side of her life. Like everyone she works with, I'm kept at arm's distance. Well, that's fine. No, not fine, but I'd rather love her and work with her at arm's distance than have to transfer out of Cold Cases. Which is what I'm sure would happen if she knew how I felt. I'd be lucky if she'd even look in my general direction if she knew.

See, I know all this; even half-drunk I know all this, and still I get myself into a shitload of trouble.

So there I was, standin' in front of the lawyer's office, starin' at this weed, and I think, say it with flowers, right? Give her the little flower I've been starin' at for the last five minutes. Okay, it's not a dozen red roses like I'd like to give her, but I thought I just might be able to get away with givin' her one little flower. And everythin' I feel and can't let myself show would be wrapped up tight in those five little petals. And if she asks why I gave her a flower, and she will, I can say tough case, tough morning, and I wanted to see you smile. It's at least partly true. And then hopefully she will smile, which will make me happy because first of all I'll have pleased her and second of all because, let's face it, she has one hell of a great smile.

So I reached out and picked the flower.

I was headin' up the stairs back at work when I heard her voice behind me, callin' my name. I had the flower in hand, feelin' a little foolish, cause what was Vera goin' to say when he saw it? So I was relieved I could give it to her outside.

"Hey, Lil," I said when I turned around to face her, and all of a sudden I felt like a goddamned teenager about to ask the girl of his dreams out on a date. Pathetic, right? All over a stupid flower. But, oh hell, she was smilin' at me already.

"Hey," she said, joinin' me on the steps. Probably wonderin' why I wasn't startin' to walk again. But now it came to it, there was no way in hell I was givin' Lilly a flower where the guys could see me. Wasn't goin' to happen. It was right now or I'd have to think of a reason I picked a flower for myself. She was lookin' tired and drawn, but underneath that was that fire I was talkin' about, that fierceness. Beautiful. "I'm sorry I couldn't join you for lunch." She didn't offer an explanation. She didn't need to.

"No problem," I said.

She looked down, and that's when she noticed the flower in my hand. "What's with the flower, Scotty?"

I looked down too. "What, this flower?" I asked, like I'd suddenly just remembered it. "Oh, this is, uh, this is for you." And I thrust it at her. Smooth, Valens, real smooth.

She got this very puzzled look on her face, like I'd suddenly started speakin' Urdu or somethin', and I felt the insane need to explain myself.

"Well, you're my friend, see," I started, babblin', "and I know this case...well, it's a shit. It's tough on all of us, believe me, but I can see...that is, well, you're...and, uh, I kinda care about you, cause you're my friend, you know..." Obviously I was goin' from strength to strength. I was fuckin' Casanova. Deep breath, finish it off. "And I wanted to make you smile."

I'd been standin' with the flower stuck out in front of me all this while, cause she hadn't taken it. But the more I babbled on, the more the corner of her mouth quirked upwards, and when I mercifully shut the hell up she smiled at me just as I'd hoped. Oh, man, that smile. It was a genuine, happy smile, not a Scotty-you-stupid-fool smile like I maybe deserved. A blindin', wonderful smile. It was like the sun came out from behind the clouds. I needed shades. It was the best smile I'd ever seen, and I was the one who caused it. The crowd goes wild. And then she reached out and took the flower, and I got goosebumps from where her hand touched my skin.

"Thankyou," was all she said, and walked up the stairs to the office. I waited a few seconds to wipe the silly grin off my face and then followed her.

Homicide was somewhat deficient in vases, so the little flower spent the afternoon in a spare coffee mug of water on Lil's desk. Vera asked about it, of course, but all Lil would say was that a friend had given it to her.

"Was it a _special_ friend, Lil?" Vera asked with that stupid smirk he gets sometimes.

But Lil just smiled, Sphinx-like, and said nothing.

So that was yesterday. Tough case, tough morning, but in the afternoon we made real headway. We were pretty close to figurin' it all out and makin' an arrest, and we all knew it. And while we were makin' phone calls, checkin' facts and gatherin' evidence, the little flower sat in its coffee cup. I kept sneakin' glances when I thought Lil wasn't lookin' in my direction, and I was pleased to see her takin' quick looks at the temporary vase from time to time. Despite the case, underneath her burnin' desire to catch the asshole we were after, she seemed...almost _happy_. Made me feel like a million bucks. She got this cute little look on her face, like a half-smile, like she knew a secret. Fuckin' adorable. And then once I sneaked a look at her when I shouldn't have, because my eyes met hers. I think we were both shocked - I know my heart missed a couple of beats. She was the first to look away, but not before I saw a faint blush spread across her cheeks, and not before she smiled this delicate, shy smile.

I suppose that's what gave me ideas.

That brings us to this morning - the break we'd been expectin' happened just before lunch, and we got to surprise one Donald Franklin, murderer, rapist and all-round fuckin' waste of space, over his hot dog and fries. He didn't look too pleased to see us. Lil got the confession - I never saw anyone with interrogation skills like hers - and by late afternoon the case was closed and one more bad guy was off the streets. Some days it's good to be a cop.

The paperwork was done by early evening, Donald Franklin had had his phone call and met his new best friend, his lawyer, and the evidence boxes were ready to be taken back to the warehouse. Lilly had already picked up one, so naturally yours truly offered to carry the other one. Anythin' to be close to the woman. We talked about the case on the way, not about the flower, although it was there between us. She still smiled that little secretive smile when she thought I wasn't lookin', and sometimes I could feel her eyes on me, stealin' little glances. I stole little glances of my own.

In the warehouse, she put her box on the shelf first and then turned to grab mine. I watched as she wrote 'closed' on the box's lid with a black marker and set it in its place among all the other boxes. So many boxes, each one representin' a life ended and families' lives destroyed. Some days it's not good bein' a cop, having to wallow in humanity's filth and misery.

But Lil, now that the box was back on the shelf and another victim had their justice, seemed just that little bit lighter, less weighed down by her life and work. She always does when she solves a case. I was pleased to see that the light that shines from her was back and she seemed luminous in the fluorescent lights of the warehouse. And, oh, so beautiful.

This is where my brain seemed to stop thinkin' rationally.

When she turned around, it was to find me standin' much too close. I had somehow managed to move towards her without realisin' I was doin' it, and now I was mere inches away from her, and -

Excuse me a minute. The bartender, that excellent bartender who pockets my change and looks like he last changed his shirt the same time his bar opened, twenty years ago, is givin' me the eye again. Jesus, can't a guy tell a story without getting harassed with alcohol? Although, that reminds me, I am tryin' to get drunk. I nod at him. He's a little quicker pourin' my scotch this time - sedative must be wearin' off - and even quicker pocketin' my cash.

Back to the depressin' end-of-life-as-I-know-it story.

Where was I? Oh yes...much too close to Lilly. I was mere inches away from her, and my legs didn't seem able to move backwards at all. Neither could my brain come up with an excuse for why I was suddenly leanin' over her. Shit. She was shocked, I could see. Her eyes were filled with surprise, and her mouth (dear God, I couldn't stop lookin' at her mouth) had fallen open slightly.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a slightly husky voice that didn't sound like the normal one she used. I didn't trust myself to speak at all. Part of my brain was screamin' at me to back the hell away, that the situation was salvageable if I'd just _move the fuck away_, but the rest of me didn't seem to be payin' attention. The rest of me was too busy raisin' my right hand and brushin' away a tendril of hair that had fallen across her eyes. The surprise in those amazing blue eyes turned to something else, part alarm and, yes, I'm sure I wasn't mistaken, part anticipation.

Then I was leaning right in and I couldn't see her eyes anymore because mine had fallen closed, and I was kissing her.

You know how sometimes you think and dream of somethin' for so long that when it finally happens, it's a disappointment? Cause you built it up so high in your head that the reality can't compare? Not in this case. Kissing Lilly was _better_ than I ever imagined it could be. Her lips were amazingly soft. She tasted, oh, she tasted so good. The coffee she'd just been drinkin', a hint of strawberries - not sure where that came from cause I couldn't remember ever seein' her eat one - and under it all just the taste of Lilly herself. I couldn't get enough. And she was kissing me back. However wrong it was about to go, there was that - she was kissing me back. There was that little bit of time when she wanted it just as I did.

My hand was still caressin' her face. Her skin felt so soft and delicate under my fingers and the silky tendrils of her hair played over the back of my hand as our kiss deepened. I could feel her own hand stealin' around the back of my neck, and all the little hairs back there stood on end at her touch. I had to get closer to her. My spare hand stole around her waist and pulled her into me. Our bodies crushed together.

That was where it started to go wrong.

The sudden pressure of my body against hers seemed to shock her back to her senses. I could feel her tense up, like a small woodland creature sensin' a nearby predator, and the hand which was on the back of my neck was moved to my chest, pushin' me away. I stopped what I was doin', knowin' it was over, tryin' to think of somethin' to say to excuse my actions. Sorry I mauled you, I couldn't help it? Maybe not. I was dismayed when I got the courage to look in her eyes. She looked almost panic-stricken.

"Let me go," she said. I was still holdin' her tightly, not wantin' to let her go cause I knew if I did, she'd really go. As in, the hell outta there.

"Lil -" I said, still not sure what to say.

"Damn you, let me go!" she said, and she fought her way out of my grasp. I got one last glimpse of her face, saw the anguish, fear and panic in her eyes, and then she was gone, almost runnin' in her hurry to get away from me. I wanted to call after her, chase after her, but what could I say? What could I possibly say to her to make it how it was between us? Nothin', that's what. That friendship we'd built back up over the last few months had been destroyed in a few short moments because I just couldn't keep a leash on myself.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

I don't know how I long I sat on the floor of the warehouse, bangin' my head softly against the evidence boxes. Felt like an hour at least, although it was probably less, and when I got back to the bullpen it was deserted. Lil was long gone, of course. Only the little flower in its coffee cup vase remained to mock me and remind me of how badly I'd screwed up a good thing. The flower was startin' to look a little worse for wear. I knew how it felt. I also knew there was only one thing I could do at a time like this; get stinkin', blind, puke-and-pass-out drunk. And I knew just the place to do it.

End of Part One

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	2. Half Open

Say It With Flowers by Henabrey

See Part One for summaries/disclaimers etc.

Thankyou so much to everyone who reviewed part one - I'm so glad you liked it.

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Part Two: Half Open (Lilly)

So my partner kissed me today. I know, I couldn't believe it either. Of all the things that could happen to you in the evidence warehouse, that would be one of the things on the list of stuff you wouldn't expect. But, it happened. And I did the stupid, scared-little-girl thing and ran like hell. That's why I am where I am, in my car. I'm trying to go home. I even made it as far as my street but instead of parking I drove right on past my house and kept going. Now I'm driving around in circles, getting lost, trying to figure out exactly what the hell I'm doing and what I'm going to do next. Nothing like driving around in circles to make you confused. And I was confused enough to begin with.

I'm trying to forget what happened, but that's a damned hard thing to do when you can still taste his lips on yours. And here's the thing, I'm not even sure I _want_ to forget. God help me.

It was a hell of a kiss, that was for sure, but that's not why the memory of it keeps stubbornly resurfacing in my mind. I've got the radio on, some stupid low-calorie pop song that no one will remember in six months - lite music - which is doing absolutely nothing to keep my mind on the neon-lit streets and off Scotty and the kiss he just gave me. The way he tasted. The way he looked. The way I _felt_.

I suppose you could say it started with the flower Scotty gave me yesterday. We were in the middle of this case, this hell of a case, murdered kids, raped kids, and I wasn't sleeping well. Wasn't going to until I'd caught the son of a bitch that did these things. I had their pictures by my bed, little angel faces that whispered in broken, despairing voices through my dreams and had me waking in the night clawing at the bedclothes, unable to return to sleep. There was a red hot ball of anger way down deep in my chest, and I _had to get this guy_. That's me, all about the job. Nothing to do with my own past, I'm sure.

Scotty asked me out to lunch after we were finished interviewing one of the victims - twenty years later and she still wears her pain like an overcoat, don't I know that feeling - and I wanted to say yes, really I did. We're not long back to an easy friendship, the way we were before...well, before, and I'm not long back to the point where I can genuinely enjoy his company without picturing him with my sister. And...and I just like to be around the guy. So I wanted to say yes and eat with him and try and make light, breezy conversation about things other than dead girls. But some days I'm not good company and I'm not good _with_ company, and this was one of those days. I was brittle and felt like I was being chipped apart by the master sculptor that is anger and grief. So I said no.

He was disappointed, I could tell, but he hid it well. He knows me by now, at least as well as I let anyone know me, and he knows not to take my little rejections personally. Sometimes I just have to be on my own. So he smiled and we went our separate ways.

I ate a quick, tasteless hotdog and spent the rest of my lunch break walking the streets, taking comfort in the anonymity that big city streets lend its walkers. You can be alone without actually being alone when you're walking big city streets. Call it sanity preservation, call it whatever you want, but people never seem so separated from each other as when they're all crowded in together. Living and working on top of several million other people would drive you mad if you didn't erect what boundaries you could to keep everyone else's lives out of yours. I know all about boundaries, so I was right at home out on the pavement dodging people in suits. I found my way to a park and sat in the sunshine and ignored the hopeful birds and squirrels. There was a crazy dog chasing a frisbee thrown by its tshirt-clad owner. Simple lives, dogs. Eat, sleep, love, chase frisbees. Must be nice.

I stayed there until it was time to head back to work, scuffing my feet in the dirt underneath the bench I was sitting on, breathing in the sunshine-filled air, watching fallen leaves drift in the breeze. The crazy dog and its owner left. The squirrels and birds gave up on me. Gradually I felt myself calm.

I was nearly back at work when I saw Scotty in front of me, climbing the steps to the front door. Not sure why, but I called his name. Did I want company for the elevator ride back to the office? Whatever the reason, he turned and smiled at me. He has a nice smile. The kind that makes you warm inside, even when you try not to notice. The kind that makes you smile back. "Hey, Lil," he said.

"Hey," I said and joined him on the steps. He'd stopped climbing and was looking at me. Looking glad to see me, actually. "I'm sorry I couldn't join you for lunch." I still kind of wish I had, but the solitude and the walk had done me good. I was feeling better. Driven, but not feeling like I was going to shake apart. I didn't offer an explanation for why I hadn't joined him. I didn't need to.

"No problem," he said, and I knew it wasn't. He was watching me, still looking glad to see me, and there was something unreadable in those beautiful bottomless eyes of his. Something that made me want to look away. I looked down, and that's when I noticed he was holding a flower. Cute, red, fluffy yellow insides. I couldn't pick the type but I'm no expert on flowers.

"What's with the flower, Scotty?"

He looked down, too, and a completely unconvincing look of surprise crossed his face. "What, this flower?" he asked, like he'd suddenly just remembered it. I wanted to laugh. "Oh, this is, uh, this is for you."

For a second I wondered if I'd heard him properly. _Scotty got me a flower_? But yes, he was holding it out for me to take, and he looked nervous, and all I could think was this was the sweetest, cutest moment of my life. It sure beat my previous best, the time I was twelve and Bobby Fielding started belting out showtunes in front of the whole school before asking me to marry him. Completely cute, but completely embarrassing. He proposed to Linda Bauer the next day. Weird kid, that Bobby Fielding. I must have had a strange look on my face because Scotty started babbling, trying to explain himself, and I could barely listen to what he was saying because the only thing in my head was, _Scotty got me a flower_?

I think he said he wanted to make me smile. Well, it worked - by the time he finished speaking I was grinning from ear to ear. He looked pretty pleased with himself. Mission accomplished, I guess.

But it was more than that, too. He liked making me happy, which is not something I'm used to from anyone, and it gave me this silly little hot ball of joy somewhere deep inside me. I told myself I was being stupid, it was just a little flower from a co-worker and nothing to get excited about. But I couldn't stop smiling.

I guess you can tell by now I have more-than-partnerly feelings for my partner. God knows I shouldn't, and I don't want to act on them. At least I tell myself I don't want to. It's just that, when I let myself, I can't help but wonder about him. Most of the time I keep it squashed right down where it never sees the light of day. Friend and partner, that's it. Except now he'd given me this flower, and there was a little voice inside me that asked if maybe he had more-than-partnerly feelings of his own.

Friend and partner, that's it, I told myself firmly.

Oh, yes, I know he kissed me. I'm getting to that.

I realised then that he was still holding the flower out for me to take, and he had a silly grin on his face. That little voice inside me wanted to know what would happen if I kissed him, but I shoved it back down where it belonged. I reached out and took the flower from him, pretending I didn't get goosebumps from where my hand touched his skin.

"Thankyou," I said, and had to turn away and head up the steps to hide the blush spreading across my cheeks.

My little flower found a home in a spare coffee mug which I placed on my desk. Vera gave me hell about it, of course, but I refused to bite. Instead I tried to bury myself in the case. My lunchtime walk - and, let's face it, the little flower - had rejuvenated me and that afternoon the case just seemed to come together. We were close to unravelling it and getting the bastard we were after, and we all knew it. I threw myself in like I always do, the hunger for justice getting hotter and brighter the closer we got to the truth. And yet - there was the flower. My mind kept coming back to it and I couldn't stop sneaking little glances at it, and each time I did that little feeling of warmth erupted inside me. Underneath the all-business work clothes and the ice queen mask I guess I'm just a typical girl at heart - and being given a flower, even from a co-worker who was _just a friend and partner_, made me happy. Here I was trying to put a sick, murdering bastard behind bars where he belonged and I couldn't keep a smile off my face. God help me if Vera saw me; I'd never live it down.

I was also sneaking little glances at Scotty. I couldn't help it. It's something I've always done, now and then, when I can't stop myself. Let's face it, the man is easy on the eye, and while I won't let myself think about him _that_ way, I can't help but...window shop. So that afternoon I couldn't stop flicking my gaze in his direction. Once when I looked up it was to find his eyes on mine. I think we were both shocked - I know my heart stopped for a second. I was surprised to find him looking at me, but if I'm being completely honest I would have to admit it was a pleasant surprise - that little voice inside me was triumphant. I liked him looking at me. I couldn't stop the blush that spread across my face - curse my fair skin - and I couldn't stop the little smile that curved my lips. As I watched him, he smiled a smile of his own, and that warmth inside me got a little bit hotter. I had to look away - I was giving myself ideas I shouldn't have.

Read whatever you like into it, but I slept surprisingly well.

We got the break we needed late morning the next day - today, hard as it is to believe - and we were able to join the pondscum Donald Franklin for lunch. Shame, I don't think he was pleased to see us. He still wasn't pleased when we brought him back to headquarters and sat him in the interview room and let me at him. He wasn't pleased but he told me what I needed to hear. They usually do. So that was it. Late afternoon and another bad guy off the streets. One down, thousands to go.

Early evening and the paperwork was all done. Franklin got his phone call and his lawyer and we got to wave him goodbye as he headed off to the lockup. Scotty offered to help me carry the evidence boxes back to the warehouse. I'm sure he was just being chivalrous, but that stupid little voice inside me that wouldn't shut up wondered if maybe he wanted to be alone with me. Either way, his presence was making me nervous. After all, it was the first time I'd been alone with him since he gave me the flower. I managed to hold up my end of the conversation - about the case, not about the flower - but I couldn't keep a smile off my face, which I had to try and hide from him, and my eyes would just glance over at him from time to time despite my best intentions. At his hands, his mouth, darting, hummingbird-like, at his eyes. I felt stupidly like a schoolgirl.

Before we go any further, I should insist that I really wasn't intending for this to go anywhere. Like I said, I normally kept my feelings for Scotty squashed way down deep where I didn't have to think of them and it was just the little flower he'd given me had stirred things up. Got through my defences. All I needed was a little time and I'd be back to my normal self. But Scotty didn't give me any time.

I put the evidence boxes on the shelf and triumphantly wrote 'closed' on them in black marker. As I do after every case is closed, I felt that burning need for justice inside me dissipate a little. I always feel just that tiny bit lighter, more normal, whenever I can bring someone to face justice for the things they'd done.

I turned around to find Scotty way too close. I was shocked. My mind, trying to protect myself as usual, insisted there must be a perfectly innocent and logical explanation for Scotty suddenly being within kissing distance. Like there was an evidence box about to fall on my head and he was trying to catch it. Or a tarantula. Something like that. But, no - one look at his eyes and I could tell why he was so close. Dear God, he kept looking at my mouth. I knew what he wanted.

"What are you doing?" I asked, in a husky voice that was completely different from my normal one. That little voice inside me was singing. The rest of me was too surprised to do anything except stare into Scotty's bottomless, drinkable eyes. Eyes I could drown in.

He didn't answer, merely reached out with one hand and brushed aside a tendril of my hair that had fallen out of place. His fingers touched my skin and I shivered. Where was all my control now, my ice-queen mask? I don't let myself think of you, Scotty, but you want to kiss me right here at work where anyone might see us? Go right ahead. Don't even have to buy me dinner first.

Part of me was scared - no, terrified - and wanted to get the hell out of there before he got any closer and changed things between us forever. But another part of me was thinking _thank God, finally_.

Then he was leaning in and my eyes were falling closed and he was kissing me.

My God, the man could kiss. His lips were insistent, warm and firm, and I was responding to him, welcoming him even. The hand that had brushed away my hair was still resting on my face, gently and softly caressing, burning a hole in my skin. I could taste the coffee he'd been drinking. The part of my mind that hadn't gone completely and blissfully blank wanted this as much as he did. Oh, did I want this. My body was humming. One hand found the back of his neck.

Then his free hand stole around my waist, pulling my body into his, and the sudden crushing contact with him brought me back to myself. What was I doing? What the _hell_ was I doing, letting him kiss me? This wasn't me. This wasn't something I'd do, not right here at work. I had carefully constructed don't-come-any-closer walls around me to keep everything in my life safely separate and in just a few seconds he'd knocked them all down. I was frantic to rebuild the rubble into something that could protect me. I had to get out of there. The touch of his hands and the taste of him on my lips had me wanting things I shouldn't, _couldn't_, want. Wanting things like that gets you hurt, and I was so sick and tired of being hurt.

_But I wanted them all the same_.

I was torn, confused. One part of me wanted to lean back into him and continue what he'd started. Maybe give Vera a heart attack if he walked in on us. The rest of me, the scared and hurt part of me was desperately trying to establish control. This will lead to pain, it was telling me. It's safer keeping your distance. It's safer not to be kissing him.

Earlier, he'd taken my breath away with his touch. Now, panic was having the same effect. I didn't know what I was doing, what I wanted, I only knew I had to get out of there. The hand I'd wound around his neck was now on his chest, pushing him away. He stopped kissing me immediately, pulling back just far enough to look in my eyes. He looked so disappointed at what he found there. I felt sorry, more than sorry, but it didn't stop me needing to get away from him.

"Let me go," I said, trying to sound firm. He was still gripping me tightly, as if he hoped to delay what I was so obviously about to do. I wanted to tell him it was like trying to hold back the tide - I was on automatic, flight not fight, and I was leaving whether he tried to stop me or not.

"Lil -" he said, struggling to find words. But I was beyond listening, almost faint from the vice of fear and anguish wrapped around my heart. I just couldn't stay there another second.

"Damn you, let me go," I insisted, and fought my way free. I caught one glimpse of his face, had one stupid moment of overwhelming desire to kiss away the expression I saw there, and then I was gone, out of the evidence warehouse, out of the building, ignoring Vera's and Jefferies' surprised farewells, out of the car park with a screech of tyres.

Out of my mind.

So that's why I am where I am, in my car, driving around in circles and trying to go home. Or, I was trying to go home. Now I don't know what I'm doing. Now I've got control of myself I'm starting to have second thoughts. And I feel pretty shabby at what I've just done to Scotty.

I'm not angry, really I'm not, but I'm afraid he thinks I am. He must think I never want to see him again. He's probably sitting in a bar somewhere drafting a request for transfer. And I've got this burning desire to find him and tell him it's okay.

See, that's what's confusing me. The normal Lilly Rush thing to do would be to go home, not think about Scotty kissing me, and go back to work tomorrow and act like nothing had happened. Business as usual, in other words. That would be the safest thing. Scotty would follow my lead, I'm sure, once he saw I didn't want to talk about it. And I could carry on fooling myself.

Yes, that's what I should want to do. It's just that I don't. What I want to do is find him and...well, telling him it's okay will do for starters.

Okay, now what?

I guess I have two choices: the Lilly Rush thing or...not. Pretend nothing happened, or find him and start something. This is not the sort of thing to decide while driving around in Philadelphia traffic without having eaten and with my skin still tingling from his touch, but I need to. I can't go home until I know what I'm doing. But surely there's only one thing I can do...I'm not really thinking of being with Scotty, am I? Am I?

Night has fallen while I've been driving. People who have homes to go to are heading back to them and the night people, the hookers and the pimps and the junkies, have surfaced and are standing on street corners looking for action. They look cold; it's not winter yet but there is a definite chill in the air. A group of homeless people warm their hands over a fire they've lit in a metal drum. Some of them look achingly young. People in warm coats and scarves heading to restaurants, theatres and clubs sidestep them, pretending not to see.

I've stuck to the backstreets, not wanting to come up against any traffic requiring quick reflexes in my current distracted state, slipping along the quieter streets on autopilot. I don't know where I'm going but I seem to know how to get there; my hands turn the wheel of their own accord and leave me to my reflections.

I've always kept walls around myself, as long as I can remember. I've had to. In the neighbourhoods I grew up in, you either learned to protect yourself against the world real fast or you got chewed up and swallowed by the poverty, the misery and the violence that was an everyday occurrence. You armoured up like a soldier going to war - in some ways that was exactly what we were. Some kids armed themselves literally, with knives and guns and razor sharp bravado that got them dead or in jail before their eighteenth birthday. Some used the artificial shields of the bottle or drugs or sex to cut themselves off from hollow-eyed reality. I can tell you all about that. I grew up with that type of person. She called herself my mother. Me? I was part of another group of survivors, the ones who wall themselves up. We cut ourselves off so nothing and no one can get to us and we dream of getting out. You learn you can survive anything if you can keep it all at arms distance - from my mother's mercurial swings between indifferent neglect and scotch-scented plaintive affection to the men she'd bring home that spoke with their fists and undressed me with their eyes to the heavy footsteps behind me one night on a rain-soaked sidewalk that signified the sudden and brutal end of my childhood. I got my dream; I got on the back of a bike aged nineteen and never looked back. But the funny thing is you can go as far as you like, all the way to Tennessee or the Homicide Department, but you can't always outrun your childhood.

Those walls, those hastily, desperately constructed, paper-thin walls of my childhood are with me still, and they've grown into solid stone. Me on one side, the rest of the world on the other. I've felt safer that way. I've learnt the hard way, over and over again, that letting people inside those walls gets me hurt. And it's the Patricks and the Kites of the world, who I've let not only past my walls but into my bed, that have hurt me the most. No one could blame me for being reluctant to open myself up to that sort of heartache again. I probably missed any hints of other-than-friends feelings Scotty's given away over the past three years because I was too busy ignoring any hint of anything other than casual friendship from anyone, from appreciative glances from strangers to outright flirtation. It's easier to pretend they don't exist. Scotty had to jump me in the evidence warehouse before I'd acknowledge what lay between us.

I thought it was best living that way; few friends, fewer lovers, keeping everyone at arm's length. Even the guys at work that I'd trust with my life don't get more than a few glimpses into my private world. It seemed easier, safer, not taking the risk of being anything other than cut off from the people around me. Until last year, when I nearly died at the hands of a serial killer. I had a good long look at myself after that, and I didn't really like what I saw. What I saw looked lonely - safe, but lonely. I felt lonely. I've been wafting around all year like a ghost, wanting to change myself but not sure how to go about it, feeling alone and cut off and wanting to reach out and afraid, so afraid. Scotty could be what I need, a lifeline between myself and the rest of humanity, maybe even a normal existence. But I'm scared.

I've had trouble convincing myself that just because I'm not happy hiding myself away, that it necessarily means I'll be happier being more open with people. If I'm not happy being alone, will I really be happier being with someone? Being with Scotty? It's a risk. And when it comes to myself I don't like risk. I take a risk like that, there's no going back to the way things were even if I wanted them to.

I shuffle back and forth like a kid on the highest diving platform, who wants to leap into the warm blue water below them but can't convince themselves they won't get hurt when they land.

I drove right past my house awhile back, meaning to stop but somehow unable to pull the car off the road. Now I find I'm outside Scotty's apartment building without having meant to come here. Think I'm trying to tell myself something? Okay, I want to see him. Either way, whatever I decide, he needs to know I don't hate him. And I want him to know that tonight.

I hang on his doorbell. I'm not expecting him to be home, and sure enough there's no answer. He could be hiding up there, refusing to answer, but there are no lights in his windows. He's not there. Now where? I suppose I could try back at work, see if he's still there. I know all about burying myself in work to avoid thinking about things.

Unless...he's not thinking about things. Maybe I've got myself all worked up over nothing. Maybe it meant nothing to him. Maybe he just kissed me because he felt like it at the time without actually feeling anything for me. Or expecting anything from me. Maybe he did it just to see if he could, if I'd let him. Boost his ego if the Homicide Ice Queen would let him get close enough to touch. Yeah, that could be it. Then we could go back to working together like nothing happened and I can pretend I don't have a knife of disappointment in my heart.

Yeah, I said disappointment. Subconscious at work. I don't know what I'm doing about all this yet, but I'd be _disappointed_ if all Scotty wanted from me was fleeting contact. Does that make me cruel? Or vain?

I'll try work, see if he's there.

I know it's crap, thinking it meant nothing to him. If we were different types of people with a different type of past between us I might think that a kiss could be a kiss and nothing more. But I'm not the sort of person who shares kisses like they mean nothing, and Scotty would know that. He wouldn't kiss me unless he was looking to do it on a regular basis. I was just trying to give myself an out. If it meant nothing to him, you see, I could pretend it meant nothing to me and I wouldn't have to make a decision.

Besides, I saw the look on his face right before he kissed me. He couldn't hide what he was feeling, and I can't keep hiding what I feel from myself. Sorry, Rush, you'll have to make a decision after all.

The city lights flash past me as I drive, maybe a little too fast, back to headquarters. I wanted to see him before; now I _need_ to. To be with or not to be with, that is the question. To kiss or not to kiss, and I need to look in his eyes before I can decide. The thought of him kissing me again gives me shivers and spreads a little pool of warmth down low in my stomach. I cut the feeling off with impatience. Can't go thinking with my body or I'll never get anywhere. Or, at least, anywhere well thought out.

I had an argument with my mother recently, when I met the fourth man she swore she was going to spend the rest of her life with. That's my mom and me. We can't spend time together without sniping at each other, taking bitter little swipes like a couple of sparring cats. I can't help punishing her because now I'm grown up and I can hurt her, fling her overtures back in her face and take angry pleasure when the barbs find her heart. She can't help punishing me for getting out of the life she gave me, and she knows how to get me where it hurts, knows how to twist the knife in. _Least I'm not alone_, she said, spitting my solitary existence at me. Look at Lilly, bigshot detective but she can't find a man, can she? She dresses it up to look like motherly concern - _you deserve it too, Lilly. To just be happy_ - but I don't buy it now any more than I did when I was a kid and she swore that the morning's hangover would be her last. I'd think it was self-hate turned outwards at me if I didn't know better. But she's incapable of recognising anything within herself worthy of dislike. Self-hate she can't do, but she's a grand master at self-deception.

Look at me, changing the subject.

I'd rather be alone than be like her, bouncing from one inappropriate man to the next. But I don't want to be alone, either. I want someone in my life. I want someone I can laugh with, someone who'll hold me and tell me it will all be okay, who'll love me, support me, accept me despite all my secret fragilities and my total dedication to my job. Someone who can fill the empty void in my house and my heart just by being next to me.

Can I see Scotty in that role?

Hmm, Scotty. He's cocky, confident - too confident, sometimes - but occasionally I catch a look in his eyes that suggests it's all a front for something much less secure. Much like the masks I wear myself. He's strong, patient, passionate, no Shakespearian scholar perhaps but smart anyway, a good and dedicated cop. A good guy. He understands and even shares my devotion to the job. If there's anyone I can trust not to cut and run when I spend half the night on my front step with a witness, it's Scotty. He makes me laugh. And those eyes of his make me melt.

There was Christina, yes. Not so long ago I could barely look at him, the sense of betrayal I felt was so great. It wasn't just that he lied about seeing her, although that was bad enough for someone with the trust issues I have. No, it was that he'd got too close to me without being invited, swapping pillow talk with one of the few people in the world who could tell him virtually anything he wanted to know about me. And he's not afraid to ask the nosy questions. I panicked and reacted like a threatened snake. Hurt? Like I'd been cut open with a knife, and I couldn't help trying to hurt back.

Time has given me a little more perspective. Christina is easy to be with - warm, sweet, inviting, not like me at all. Just the thing when you don't want to think or feel anything beyond immediate desire. Chris has always been good at finding men like that and fitting in right where they need her. And Scotty was hurting so much then: can I really blame him for wanting to just sink into something that could mask it all for even a little while? I could then, when pain had me not thinking straight, but I've moved past it now. I can't hold a grudge for a stupid mistake.

Besides, am I going to let Christina stand in the way of something that could be really great?

Hell, no. It's just me that's the problem.

Scotty's not at work and neither's anyone else. Just as well, as I don't think I could come up with an excuse for being back here. _I'm just here to find out why Scotty kissed me and whether I want him to do it again_. Maybe not. His car is in the car park, however, so wherever he is has to be within walking distance. Plenty of bars fit that description.

I walk the cold, dark and haunted streets, looking for him. The night people glance at me, glance away. I'm the wrong gender for the hookers and pimps, walking too purposefully for the homeless, who can sense a hopeless case when they see one, and the shape of my gun that I let fill out the right side of my coat warns off the junkies. As I walk I think about him. I think about the way he looked right before he kissed me, the heat in his eyes. His very soul seemed on fire. The way he looked after as he watched me fight my way free of his grasp. The way he brings me coffee without my asking. The way he does a thousand little things for me. The way he puts up with all my issues. The way he smiles at me.

There was something else my mother said to me, earlier when I met her for coffee. _When someone's right for you, _she said,_ you feel it undeniably in your bones. You ever had that feeling?_ I hadn't - sad, isn't it? - but tonight, as I wander the streets, searching them for Scotty and searching inside myself for something else - truth, courage - tonight I do. I've got that feeling, not only in my bones but in every cell of my body. It's just I'd been too afraid to see it before.

The second bar I come to - a real dive - has a familiar form sitting hunched over the counter. I stand outside a moment, watching the dejected shape of his shoulders. My heart goes out to him. I wish I had stayed with him in the warehouse instead of running. I wish I were the type of person who could do that. But I'm not; panic first, feel bad about it later. I can see now, though, what I couldn't see right at the moment he kissed me - that I want to be with him. I just need to let go of my fears. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a precipice, afraid to jump in case I don't fly. I need to look into Scotty's eyes and find something in there that will persuade me I won't fall. I open the door and, feeling more nervous than I have in my entire life, walk inside.

End of Part Two

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	3. Full Bloom

Say It With Flowers by Henabrey

Part Three: Full Bloom (Scotty)

Once again, thanks to those who reviewed the last two chapters, your comments mean a lot to me. This is the last part - enjoy!

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Oldest story in the world: boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, boy gives girl flower, boy fucks things up royally by kissing girl when he shouldn't have, boy loses girl he never had.

So that's why I am where I am, in this lousy bar, gettin' drunk, and now the whole horrible sordid story is out in the open.

I'm not sure what to do next. Buy another drink, of course, but I mean after that. Tomorrow when I'm going to feel even worse than I do right now. Perhaps I ought to go home and start work on my request for transfer, but the alcohol has finally, blessedly started to go to my head and I'm not sure I could even spell my own name let alone long words like _inappropriate _and _inexcusable_, or even _actions_. I think _actions_ has a 'k' in it.

There's a sudden draft of cold air as someone opens the door behind me. Another drinker, I guess, come to drown their sorrows. Come on in, the more the not-so-merrier. At least they'll give the bartender somethin' to do besides stare at me.

I would like to see Lilly and try and apologise, but she'd probably hit me. That's if she'd even agree to see me, which is doubtful. Actually, no. I don't want to see her, cause if I saw her I'd see the expression I know would be on her face, and that would just about break my heart.

So that's it. In the space of a few seconds, I've lost my friend, my partner, any chance at all I ever had of bein' more than a friend and partner to my friend and partner, and on top of that I have to think of somethin' to tell Stillman when he asks why I've got a sudden burnin' desire to transfer to the fraud squad. All I got left is my old pal Mr. Alcohol.

I'll drink to that.

I'm about to knock back my scotch in one bitter go when a hand descends onto mine, stoppin' me from liftin' the glass to my lips. I do my best to focus on it. It's a thin, delicate white hand. I know that hand. It's Lilly's hand. Why is Lilly's hand here in the bar? Is the rest of her here? I raise my eyes from her hand up her arm to her shoulder and then to her face. Yes, it seems all of her is here. She has that sweet, almost shy half-smile on her features again.

I must have dreamt her up. I've been thinkin' about her too damn much and now I'm imaginin' she's here with me. But no, the drunks and the bartender down the other end of the counter are starin' at her too, like they never saw a woman before. She's really here.

"Hi," she says, soundin' nervous.

"Hi," I say, shortly, turnin' back to face the bar counter. Now it seems she's here, I don't want to see her. There's a conversation and an argument and a cold shoulder comin' my way, and I want to put it off as long as possible. Funny, though; she don't sound angry.

"How much have you had to drink?" she asks, still soundin' nervous. Why is she nervous? Does she think I'm about to jump her again?

"Not enough."

"Can I drive you home?" she asks. The drunks are still starin' at her. They probably can't believe my luck, the only beautiful woman probably ever to enter this bar and she comes to talk to me. Wants to drive me home. Well, fellas, I ain't as lucky as I seem.

"I'm quite happy here, thankyou. I'd miss all the wonderful company," I say, about to raise my glass again. She still has her hand on mine, though, and she forces it back to the counter.

"Scotty, please. I want to talk to you."

Probably what she wants is to give me a black eye. But what the fuck. Be a man, Valens, get it over with. Get on with the rest of your miserable existence.

"Yeah, okay," I hear myself say, and lurch off the bar stool. Lucky she didn't get here two drinks from now, or she'd have had to carry me back to the car. As it is, I can stay upright without too much head-spinnin', although I wouldn't like to have to try anythin' faster than a snail's pace. I even manage to put my coat on, although she has to help me with the tricky right sleeve. She wraps my scarf around my neck, and she still has that half-smile on her face. Why isn't she angry? Why am I not on the floor of the bar with blood comin' out of my nose? And I still get goosebumps when she touches me, despite all the problems I've caused myself.

It's cold outside. Not winter-cold, but it feels like it's not far off. The chill does a lot to clear my head.

"I'm this way," she says, pointin'. "I parked at headquarters."

I find I'm able to walk quite well, considerin'. There are still people on the streets, workers lookin' for home, hookers lookin' for work, junkies lookin' for a quick buck to pay for a quick fix, homeless lookin' for somewhere to call home for the night. Did Lilly walk here by herself lookin' for me?

"You walked here by yourself?" I ask, and instantly want to bite the words back. Lilly doesn't need people tryin' to protect her.

"I'm a big girl, Scotty. They even let me carry a gun these days."

"These people got guns, too, you know. I'm just sayin'."

No, she still doesn't seem angry. She's even smilin' in my direction. Is that the Twilight Zone theme song I hear in the background?

"How'd you find me?" I ask finally, as we round the corner before Headquarters' car park.

"I went to your apartment first, but you weren't there, so I came back to work. You weren't there either, but your car was, so I figured you might be at a bar within walking distance. This was the second one I tried."

"Brilliant," I say. "No wonder they made you a detective."

That gets me a full smile.

We walk in silence a little while until another question occurs to me. "So..._why_ were you lookin' for me?" Honest, I expected to never see her again, at least not see her smilin' at me, and here she is drivin' all over Philly lookin' for me not two hours since I trampled all over the little work/private life line she's got drawn for herself. Not trampled exactly, more like stamped and smudged it right out of existence.

It seems she doesn't want to answer me. She just smiles to herself and keeps walkin'.

Okay, then.

She's parked her car next to mine even though the lot is practically deserted. I'll have to catch a cab back here tomorrow. Should have thought of that and gone to a bar closer to my apartment, although then Lil would never have found me. She leaves me at the passenger door of her car and goes round to the driver's side, but instead of unlockin' it she stands and looks over the car's roof at me. It's partly the searchin' look she gives suspects when she's tryin' to get the truth out of them, part somethin' else I can't name. She seems to be decidin' to say somethin'. I wait for her to speak.

"I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."

"Okay," I say.

She still doesn't seem quite sure of herself. She looks down at the roof as she speaks. "Why did you give me the flower? Did you really just want to make me feel better?" Her eyes come back up to meet mine, and I get that searchin' look again. "Or was it more than that?"

Oh, God, I do not want to answer that question. "Say it with flowers, you mean?" I say, trying to smirk.

"You kissed me today, Scotty. I mean, what was that? Just some spur of the moment thing, something you'd never normally think of doing and you have no idea why you did it?" Her eyes were burnin' with intensity. I felt like she was tryin' to see right through my gaze to my brain to read my thoughts. "Or not? Was it something more?"

I stare back at her, not sure what to say. I'm tempted to lie and say it meant nothin', cause if I did then maybe, just maybe, since she doesn't seem mad, we could get back to normal. Chalk it up to the tough case we'd just solved and a moment of madness and maybe we could still be friends. And if I tell her the truth then I know it's going to get awkward. She maybe, _maybe _might work with someone who kissed her once, but someone with feelings for her is quite another story. It's temptin' to take the easy way out. But I told her I'd be honest, and I owe her the truth no matter how difficult it is to say.

"It was a spur of the moment thing, and something I'd never normally do," I say, and just like that her eyes get hard. It's like this glass wall just slammed shut. I've disappointed her, either because she thinks I'm lyin' or because...because...she wanted a different answer? Nah. I hasten to finish what I was tryin' to say.

"But I've wanted to kiss you since about two seconds after I met you."

The glass wall shatters. Her eyes just blaze all of a sudden, and I know without a doubt that that was the answer she wanted. I'm startin' to wonder if I'm actually passed out at the bar and all of this is just a hallucination.

There's a little clickin' sound and a couple of electronic beeps as Lil finally unlocks her car, and her remarkable eyes are suddenly gone along with the rest of her into the vehicle's interior. The cold and the walk over here in her company have done more to sober me up than a dozen coffees and a bucket of ice ever could and I have no problems openin' the car door, gettin' in and doin' up my seatbelt.

When I'm all done up I look over at her, try and see what she's thinkin'. Not that I ever have much luck with that, and now's no different. She's playin' with her keys, passin' them from one hand to the next like she ain't sure what to do with them. She still seems nervous to me. When she sees me lookin' she jams the key into the ignition.

"I never thought about it," she says, lookin' straight ahead at the wall of the parkin' lot.

Well, colour me shocked.

"Actually, no," she goes on. "I never _let_ myself think of it. Most of the time. But sometimes I couldn't help but wonder..."

"Wonder what?"

She turns to face me, and if I hadn't already dodged a bullet tonight I'd kiss her, she looks so fuckin' adorable with this shy smile and a faint blush the parkin' lot lightin' is bright enough to let me see.

"What it would feel like to kiss you," she says, and looks back down at the steerin' wheel.

Well, now I am surprised. Okay, I know other women find me attractive - I ain't blind - but Lil ain't other women. She's all business when it comes to work, the last person I would've picked to even idly check out a colleague. And now I find out she's been thinkin' about kissing me.

Can't get carried away. Thinkin' of kissing me don't mean she wants anythin' else. She'd _never_ let herself think of anything else.

"And?" I can't help but ask. Call me a typical man, but I like to know if I measure up. Even if it was a totally unexpected and unasked-for kiss, I'd like to know it was _good_.

But Lil ain't answerin' that. She just smiles and starts the engine.

We drive back to my place in silence, strangely comfortable given what's gone on between us tonight. Peak hour has come and gone and the streets are mostly uncrowded. There are sirens in the distance - another robbery, another rape, another murder, another statistic - and the hum of the other cars around us as we drive. Lil's a good driver; careful like she is with the rest of her life, and she don't drive too fast like I do. One of the many bad habits I got to break - stop drivin' too fast, stop losin' control of myself, stop tryin' to kiss co-workers in the evidence warehouse...

If I'm really passed out at the bar and dreamin' all this, it's one _hell_ of a vivid hallucination. Everythin' seems real enough, from the familiar landmarks flashin' past to the people divin' in and out of buildings, cars and alleyways. There are stray dogs and stray teenagers and stray pieces of paper litterin' the gutter. It all looks the same as it does every night as I'm drivin' home, but different, because tonight I'm in the passenger seat and the subtle scent of Lilly's perfume permeates the air around me.

I could sit like this all night, but it's not long before Lil is pullin' the car into a parkin' spot right outside my crummy apartment buildin'. I gotta move some place nicer; I'm sure I could afford it if I worked out a budget. Lilly has such a nice house. One day I'll ask her how she manages to pay for it. Maybe cats don't need much spent on them.

The sound of a car door openin' gets my attention. Lil gets out of the car in one graceful movement and then leans back in, lookin' at me. "Coming?" she says. Somehow I hadn't thought she'd be goin' anywhere near my apartment tonight, and the confusion must show on my face cause she keeps talkin'. "I'd rather not talk where we can be seen, okay? Come inside."

Well, who am I to refuse a beautiful woman? I follow her up the stairs and through the building's dark interior to my apartment. I can feel her watching the way I walk, judging my sobriety. I guess she don't want to have a heart-to-heart with a man who won't remember it in the mornin'. I do myself proud; not only do I walk in a straight line but I'm quite sure I could pass any nose-touching, backwards-alphabet test a traffic cop could care to give me. Outside my door, I spare a moment to hope I haven't left any underwear lyin' around. I must be sober by now; I get the right key in the lock first time. Then Lilly is in my apartment.

Thank God, it's tidy; no underwear in sight. Lil don't seem interested in her surroundings, though, so maybe it wouldn't matter if there were. She's turned to face me and has that half-shy look on her face again. I probably look a little unsure of myself as well. Half an hour ago I was assumin' my night would end face down in a puddle of puke, and now here I am with Lilly in my apartment. And she's not even angry at me. There's a moment of somewhat awkward silence before we both start talkin' at once.

"I'm sorry," we say in unison, and laugh. I motion for her to go first.

"I'm sorry I ran away earlier," she says. "I shouldn't have done it. I was confused."

"Understandable. You just got jumped by your partner," I say, and she smiles. "And I'm the one who should be apologisin'."

She shakes her head slightly and looks down at her feet. I'm really not used to this Lilly, who seems so unsure of herself. "It was, uh, unexpected."

"It was sort of unexpected for me, too."

She smiles. "I wasn't angry, Scotty. I want you to know that."

"Just confused."

"Yeah. Confused." She's still lookin' down at her feet, one of them softly scuffin' my carpet. She's quiet for a few seconds, like she's making up her mind about somethin'. "We've been friends and partners for awhile now," she says, "and I thought I knew you quite well. But all of a sudden I realise I don't even know how you feel about me." Her eyes come back up to rest on mine, silently askin' a question.

Okay, okay, I can do this. Time to tell her how I feel. If I were going to be completely honest with her, I'd be droppin' to one knee and professin' my undyin' love for her. Well, there's honesty and there's honesty. Being completely honest right now is just going to make things seriously awkward. And what good would it do? I know she can't let herself be with me in the way I want to be with her, even if she has been thinkin' about me in ways I hadn't expected. And I want to keep workin' with her above almost anythin'. I go for the slightly-less-than-completely-honest approach.

"Look, I'll admit my feelings for you are more than they probably should be," I say. "But I know that even if you returned them you'd never consider actually doing anything about it." There's a flicker of something in her eyes at that, but it's gone before I can interpret it. "You wouldn't, would you? Your private life is private. I get that. I'm part of your public life. You got these walls a mile high keepin' those two parts of you separate." I give my head a small, sad shake. "I just can't see you ever lettin' them merge."

She looks back down at her feet, gives her head a tiny nod. "Yeah," she says, a word that sounds more like a sigh, and she seems almost reluctant. I know this is the part where she tells me that I'm quite right, she'd never even let herself think of bein' with me but hey, lets be friends. It's more than I expected earlier this evening, but damn, it hurts all the same. It's gotta be hurtin' her too, all this gettin' personal. It ain't somethin' she does often. I need to let her know I'm sorry for makin' her do this. If only she hadn't smiled at me when I gave her the flower. If only she weren't so goddamn beautiful...

"Lilly, I'm sorry."

Her eyes meet mine in a question.

"For kissing you," I continue. "It was way outta line. It shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm glad you did it."

What? "What?"

She gives this half smile and looks away. "Yeah, well. Like I said, I wondered."

Oh. "And now you know."

She shrugs. There's a faint blush on her face, like she's embarrassed by her admission. Well, I'm happy to have satisfied her curiosity, anyway. I just wish she was glad for _other_ reasons as well. We stand for a minute, silent, avoidin' eye contact. I feel suddenly awkward, and by the look on her face so does Lil.

"Now what?" she finally asks. I look at her, surprised.

"It's up to you."

"No, you're the one who kissed me. You tell me you've got feelings for me. It should be up to you."

Except I thought we'd already established nothin' could come of what happened tonight...hadn't we? Maybe she means it's up to me if we keep workin' together. "If...if we could go back to the way things were before? I want to keep workin' with you."

There's a flicker of annoyance and what - disappointment? - that crosses her face. Hers is a damned hard face to read sometimes. Why couldn't I have fallen for someone simple and transparent?

"So that's it, then, is it?" she asks, and there's no missin' the sudden ice in her voice. "We just go back to being friends like nothing happened?"

"Isn't that what you want?"

"I want to know what _you_ want," she says, after a hesitation. It was almost like she was going to say something else instead. She's starin' at me. There's a mute somethin' in her eyes, like she's askin' me for somethin' I don't know how to name. It's almost, _almost_, like she was going to say 'no' but wants me to say it first. But surely not...

Suddenly I can't speak above a whisper. "It's hard, being your friend."

There's a flash of somethin' in her eyes, somethin' like hope, there and gone in a second. She doesn't open her mouth, but her eyes speak volumes. Man, I am so confused. If this wasn't Lilly Rush I was talkin' to I could almost imagine...oh, fuck it. You only live once.

"Christ, Lil," I burst out. "I dream of you. Every night I dream of you and I wake up with your name on my lips. When you're not around I feel like part of me's missin'. I've had these feelings for you for so long I can't remember what life was like before you were there in my heart. I would give anythin', _anythin'_, to be with you. I never wanted anythin' more in my life. And you ask if I just want to be friends? I don't. But I don't, I _can't_, dare hope for anythin' else."

She stares at me for an endless, silent moment, those wonderful eyes a whirlwind of emotion, boring right through me, and then in one fluid movement she brings her hands up to my face, steps into me and brushes her lips against mine. I'm way too shocked to kiss back.

She pulls away, but stays standin' close enough for me to feel her breath on my face. That proves it - I _must_ be dreamin' this. No way that just really happened. Yet it still all seems real; unbelievable but true...

She looks a little stunned, like she can't quite believe what she just did, but then she smiles this shy smile and starts talkin'. I can barely pay attention: there's a sudden roarin' in my ears. "I drove around and around in circles tonight, trying to go home and forget what happened because that's the sort of thing I'd normally do. But then I realised that this time I didn't want to do what I'd normally do. I wanted to do something completely different. Because I have feelings of my own - for you. And I'm _tired_ of being that person who hides behind walls all the time. I'm tired of being alone. I don't want to be alone anymore. And I'd like to be not alone...with you."

It takes a second, but then it gets through to me - everythin' I thought I knew about Lilly Rush was wrong. Really, two hours ago I thought I'd lost her friendship forever. I thought I knew exactly how she'd react to what happened. But I couldn't have been more off track. _She has feelings for me_. _She wants to be with me_. If this is an alcohol-induced hallucination, it's a cruel one.

Obviously I'm taking too long to answer; she seems suddenly hesitant. "If that's something you think you might be interested in."

I've never been more interested in anythin' in my life. "It is."

Did I say the smile Lilly gave me when I handed her the flower was great? That was nothin'. A mere smirk compared to the one she's giving me now. Please, God, let this not be a dream. I'm probably grinnin' myself but I can't tell; I'm too wrapped up in her to notice what my own face is doin'.

Obviously it must be doin' something weird because her smile turns into a giggle. I've never heard Lil giggle before. I'm enchanted.

"What?"

"You look like a deer caught in headlights," she says, the giggle turnin' back to a smile.

"Sorry. It's just that I keep getting the feelin' that I'm still back at the bar, passed out, and this is all just a very good dream. A hallucination."

If possible, her smile gets even wider. Then it disappears as she closes the distance between us. I feel rather than hear her speak against my lips before she kisses me. "Does this help?"

This is the third time today I've felt her lips on mine, and I don't think I'll ever be able to get enough of it. You know, I really don't think my imagination could come up with anythin' this good. This really is real. I can't believe my luck. I must have done somethin' really good in a former life to deserve this, but I ain't going to waste time thinkin' about it now. I got more important things to think of, like the feel of Lilly kissing me and her body pressed against me. One of my hands is in her hair and the other on her waist, under her coat. Nothin' separatin' our skin but the thin fabric of her shirt. Either she's really here and I'm really kissing her, or I'm making a fool of myself makin' out with thin air.

"It helps," I say when we finally break apart. I can feel her smile against my lips.

"I really loved the flower," she says, still pressed against me.

"I hoped you would."

Typical male, you'll say, but my thoughts are fast headin' south. In the space of a couple of hours, I go from she never wants to see me again to she wants to be friends to she wants to be more than friends to I want to be more than friends, right here, up against the wall. Sigh if you like. That's the way we men are made. The thought seems to have occurred to Lilly as well. She's blushin' faintly and breathin' quicker than normal, and from where I'm pressed up against her I can feel her heart beatin', hard and fast.

But instead of leanin' back into me, she moves away. Not tonight, Josephine, it seems. I'll try to be gentlemanly and not look disappointed.

"I should go," she says.

I nod.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?"

Tomorrow night's Saturday night, and I'd like to say I had a full social calendar - that I'd cancel to be with her, of course - but my plans involve a lot of television and little else. "No plans."

"Good. Pick me up at 7:30. We'll have dinner."

Okay, dinner. I can do dinner. Wine, candlelight, conversation, promises of more in the air...

"And later on you can hallucinate some more."

Oh.

"And then maybe on Sunday you can make me breakfast," she says.

_Oh_.

There's a wicked grin spreadin' across her face. Probably looks the same as the one on mine.

"Okay, then," I say.

If she says she's maybe goin' to stay the night, I'd rather it were _this_ night, not tomorrow. I'm a guy, after all, and she's gorgeous. But it occurs to me I should probably take her out at least once before we go any further than kissing. So I'll just have to wait until tomorrow night, a century away by the feel of it. Probably just as well. I ain't a bad cook, at least when it comes to the simple stuff, but after the day and evenin' I've had burnt toast is probably about all I'm good for.

"You won't-"

"Run away again? No. I'm done with running away."

"I was goin' to say 'disappear'. If you're a figment of my imagination, the real Lilly's goin' to be pissed when I disturb her Saturday by turnin' up on her doorstep uninvited."

She giggles again. I love that I can make her laugh. She holds up one finger in a just-a-second gesture and then reaches into her coat pocket for her notebook and pen. She scrawls somethin' down, rips the page out of the book, folds it and hands it to me. "That might help," she says. Then she kisses me again, short, sweet and hot, and opens the door.

"Goodnight, Scotty."

"Yes, it is," I say.

She grins at me. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Hey, Lil." She's half turned away already, but turns back to look at me.

"I ain't runnin' away, either." I'm in this, in other words. The only way I'll leave her is if I'm dead, and even then I'll fight like hell to stick around.

"No," she says softly, and I'm surprised to see she suddenly looks like she wants to cry. But she still has that incredible smile on her face. "I don't believe you will."

The door closes softly behind her, and she's gone. I already feel her absence. It seems like years before tomorrow night - how am I goin' to last until then? I'm still holdin' the note she left me; I unfold it and smile at the words she's written. _Pick Lilly up 7:30 for dinner. Yes, all this really happened_.

I cross to the window and wait for her to appear, wantin' one last glimpse of her. The street's quiet and dark, peaceful. I watch as her blonde head appears beneath my window and crosses the sidewalk to her car. The car lights flash as she unlocks it, but instead of gettin' in she looks up, searchin' for my window. Her eyes find mine. She was smilin' before, but it fades as she looks at me. If my eyes are givin' off the same heat hers are, I'm surprised my curtains ain't on fire. We stare at each other for what seems an age, and then her car lights flash again. She's locked it. Then she crosses the sidewalk and re-enters my building.

Remember I said earlier that tellin' Lilly I was in love with her would be the actions of a stupid man? I'm thinkin' about that. I'm thinkin' I might just take a chance and tell her someday soon. Maybe I'll say it with flowers, maybe I'll just say it. I get the sudden feelin' that maybe it wouldn't be such a stupid thing to do after all.

And that's the best feelin' in the world.

She only gets to knock on my door twice before I fling it open, catchin' her with her hand still raised. Forget my curtains; I think _I'm_ about to burst into flame from the look in her eyes.

"I remembered I prefer brunch on Sundays," she says. "You can make me breakfast tomorrow morning instead." And then she's in my arms, I've got her up against the door frame and we're kissing like we'll die if we don't. Her coat drops to the floor.

I hope she likes burnt toast.

The End

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